Over at the Pinstriped Bible, our pal Steve Goldman has a couple of posts on the prospect of Robinson Cano batting fifth:

Cano’s batting average ranked sixth in the league. His True Average (formerly Equivalent Average) of .293, which measures the sum total of his contributions on offense on a scale identical to batting average, ranked only 29th among players with 400 or more plate appearances. Among those finishing ahead of him: Jorge Posada (.301) and Nick Swisher (.300). You really don’t need the statistics to appreciate the basic reality of this: Posada and Swisher simply reached base more often. Unless Cano hits .350 this year or learns to take a walk, both spectacularly unlikely, and assuming business as usual on the part of either player, they are going to reach base more often this season.

Given the purpose of the batting order is to promote offensive production, what purpose is served here? Over the course of his career, Posada has been the superior hitter with men on, and his career OBP stands at .379. Like Cano, Swisher struggled to deliver baserunners to the plate, but still reached base 40 percent of the time in those situations. His strikeouts, viewed as an annoyance by the less sophisticated fan, meant he hit into a double play in only 11 percent of opportunities vs. 17 percent for Cano. Posada, despite his typical aged catcher legs, hit into a twin killing in only 14 percent of his opportunities.

We also haven’t considered another possibility, which is that not only does Cano not hit .350, he doesn’t hit .320 again either, instead falling back to his career averages of .306/.339/.480. Were he to do that, his OBP would barely escape the league average.

A soul classic (love the intro):

Last night, I went to a book release party at a bar in Park Slope, Brooklyn, for our own Emma Span’s memoir, 90% of the Game Is Half Mental: And Other Tales from the Edge of Baseball Fandom, which was officially released yesterday (more on that to follow). I was talking with Diane Firstman, Jay Jaffe and Ben Kabak when a petite brunette with a firm handshake introduced herself to us.

“I’m Mara,” she said, “I used to work with Emma at the Voice. I wrote a book last year.”

And how do you do?

Me: What was your book about?

Mara: Orgasms.

Diane: Was it illustrated?

I immediately thought about the MOMA cocktail party scene from Manhattan (1:40 into this clip):

Me: Really, what about orgasms, exactly?

Mara: It was about my search to have one.

Me: Okay, so without ruining anything, did you have one?

Mara: I did.

Me: That’s great. I love a happy ending.

Jay: What, did you guys rehearse this on the way over?

We did not. But it felt scripted. We laughed and enjoyed a true New York moment.

According to Chad Jennings, Mariano Rivera will make his spring debut tonight against the Astros.

More from the funny pages…

George Herriman.

Bon Scott sounded like he gargled whisky when he sang:

In Tropic Thunder, Ben Stiller played Tugg Speedman, an action movie star who once made a serious movie called Simple Jack:

It was a good gag, poking fun at movie stars who try to gain respectability–i.e., an Academy Award–by playing a mentally handicapped character.

It’s not exactly the same thing, but I couldn’t help but think about this bit when I read about Stiller’s new movie, Greenberg. Okay, he’s not playing a blind man, but it’s close–this is Stiller in an earnest, downbeat mode.

Stiller gets serious! The New Yorker gave him a good notice, though. I liked one of director Noah Baumbach’s early movies, The Squid and the Whale, so maybe it’s not all that bad.

Then again, maybe it is. Ever see Interiors? Manage to stay awake?

Picking up where we left off yesterday, yo, remember Ratner’s down on the L.E.S?

Dig this recent post from Vanishing New York, a most excellent blog.

Tim Marchman on which team has the most core talent:

Over a decade and a half, the constant in Yankee championships has been the home grown quartet of Derek Jeter, Andy Pettitte, Jorge Posada and Mariano Rivera: The Core Four, as the papers (among others) have it. From one angle, this is evidence of the strength of the Yankee Way; from another, it’s proof that the Yankee Way is a synonym for money. (Retaining the services of those four players has cost the team about a half billion dollars over the course of their careers.)

As the Yankees try to defend their World Series title, a striking bit of evidence for the second possibility is that despite their many virtues, it could be argued that none of the team’s Core Four are among their actual core four — i.e., their best four players — something having less to do with their still-considerable powers than with how strong the rest of the team is.

Just in time for St. Patty’s Day, dig this new novel by Steve Rushin, formerly of Sports Illustrated. Rushin is a talented and funny writer. I remember Jay Jaffe enthusiastically recommending Rushin’s Road Swing and I was not disappointed. He’s the goods. This novel looks like fun.  

Peep the website.

The Times ran a couple of literary baseball pieces of note over the weekend: one, on Mark Twain, the other, on Stephen Crane. And here, belatedly, is a fine story by Alan Schwarz that is worth reading:

Dorothy Jane Mills was supposed to feel honored last Monday when the Society for American Baseball Research included her husband, Dr. Harold Seymour, in the inaugural class of the organization’s new de facto Hall of Fame. She was supposed to feel thankful that her assistance with Seymour’s seminal three-volume history of baseball, published sequentially from 1960 through 1990, would be acknowledged during his induction.

But Mills felt neither honored nor thankful. Instead, resentment that had percolated within her for 50 years — over how she had, in fact, co-written those books but received no credit — boiled over into heated discussions of historical record, academic honesty and what can best be described as intellectual spousal abuse.

The controversy ended Wednesday with the organization, known as SABR (pronounced say-ber), telling Mills that she would be honored equally with Seymour. But only after she had relived a time in her life she can forgive even less than forget.

“Everyone assumed that he had done all that work by himself — that’s what he wanted them to assume, but we were equal partners,” said Mills, 81, working on her 26th book at her home in Naples, Fla. “All these things were done jointly. He just couldn’t share credit. And I didn’t say anything at the time, because at the time, wives just didn’t do that.”

Great job by Schwarz.

See you in the funny pages…

First, up: E.C. Segar.

Since we are talkin’ bout beverages…

Mmm, Mmm, Good.

(Yoooouuu, better) Watch your step, it’s March 15th…

I can’t imagine it’s ever too early for malt liquor.

Elegy to the Spanish Republic 34, by Robert Motherwell (1954)

The wind has died down but it is thick with fog in New York City.

Hey, at least the hour of lost sleep brings Opening Day that much closer…

[photo credit: ytb]

The Empire of Lights, by Rene Magritte (1954)

I can’t remember wind like this; it’s close to scary.

Man, this would sure hit the spot right about now:

King Kong Kut: